


My each and every word

by Neuqe



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28841079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuqe/pseuds/Neuqe
Summary: Carlos Reyes Week: Day 1: "I love you but stop talking" + fluff“I love you, but stop talking,” he mutters, his eyes still closed.It slips out of his tongue. The words are out of his mouth before he can really think about them, but TK falls silent next to him immediately. The room is quiet, and while the silence is not uncomfortable, he faintly feels like there is something wrong with what he just said.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 10
Kudos: 192
Collections: Carlos Reyes Week 2021





	My each and every word

**Author's Note:**

> The week has finally started and new ep is also airing today which is so exciting!

”Squeeze my hands,” TK says, as he holds both of his hands in his own. His expression looks so focused as he looks down to their joined hands it almost makes Carlos want to laugh.

He does as he asks, even though he faintly thinks that all of this feels a little pointless. He feels absolutely fine, but TK has still woken him up already five times during the night to check if he has a concussion.

He sits on his side of the bed cross-legged, his hair is a mess, and he has dark circles under his eyes, but his eyes are full of softness.

“Okay, good,” he breathes out and lets his hands slip away from his. He holds up his index finger. “Follow my finger.”

Carlos sighs softly. “Ty, I appreciate this,” he says as he follows his slowly moving finger with his gaze, “but I’m fine.”

He glares at him. “You were in a car crash,” he points out, “you hit your head twice.”

In his opinion, car crash feels like an exaggeration. It makes it seem more dramatic than it was. His partner had been driving the car and another car had run a red light and crashed straight into their side in the middle of the intersection.

It hadn’t been a massive collision, but he still managed to hit his head against the window and the car seat. Or at least that is what he thinks happened. The details are a little fuzzy, because it had all happened so fast and he cannot recall where he exactly dumped his head.

“Yeah, but I feel fine,” he insists.

His head is still throbbing with dull pain and his shoulders are stiff, but it is nothing he couldn’t live with. He didn’t even get a scratch from the crash and he could walk out of the car by himself. He had been checked in the ER and the doctor had given him painkillers and ordered him to rest for a day or two.

She had been concerned that he might have a mild concussion and that he should keep an eye on the possible symptoms and TK had taken that advice to the heart when Carlos had mentioned about it, offhandedly, when he came over to his place after the shift.

“Do you feel nauseated?” He asks, continuing on to next part of his question pattern.

“No,” he says, as he lies down in the bed. The ache in his shoulders eases as he breathes in deeply.

The bed feels softer than usually and the bundled duvet is warm against his legs and all he wants to do is to fall asleep again and possibly sleep longer than an hour.

TK gently strokes his cheek with one finger. “What day is it?”

“Monday.”

“Be more specific.”

“25th,” he replies without missing a beat. He looks up to him and finds him smiling at him, softly.

They have no lights on because bright lights make his headache worse, so the bedroom is dim, but he can still make out his face and see that his eyes are glistering. TK rubs his own cheek and jaw little helplessly.

“Okay, maybe you don’t have a concussion,” he says, admitting his defeat and lying down next to him. He settles the pillow under his head and just looks at him. There is so much affection and love in his eyes, it is almost impossible for his sleep deprived brain to comprehend.

“I’m glad we are on the same page,” he says, as he supresses a yawn.

“Tired?” He half-mutters against the pillow.

“Yeah,” he admits, “like I’ve been woken up five times during the last five hours,” he adds, with a lopsided smile.

“Sorry,” he says, in a soft tone, but he doesn’t sound particularly apologetic.

“It’s fine.” He lazily cups his face with one hand and presses a kiss against his forehead, even though moving causes a sharp pain to flash through his neck. “I’m glad you’re here, but you can stop worrying about me.”

The painkillers are definitely making him sleepy and his mind just a bit fuzzier than normally. The exhaustion is hanging deeply on his limbs and he feels like his thoughts are a bit jumbled, but he guesses it is due to the lack of sleep and pulling a twelve-hour shift before the crash.

TK closes his eyes and opens them slowly again. “I just want you to be okay,” he says in a small voice.

“And I am,” he reassures. He still hasn’t moved his hand away from his cheek and TK turns his head slightly to kiss his palm.

“Okay.”

He smiles at him and closes his eyes. He means to close them only temporarily because TK is still talking, but his eyelids feel heavy and he can feel himself slowly slipping asleep despite the headache in the base of his skull. He cannot really focus on his words, even though he tries his best to listen to him.

He likes TK’s voice. It’s deep, calming and just slightly hoarse. His tone is soft, and he is faintly sure that whatever he is saying to him is worth of listening to, and usually he could listen to him for hours on end, just describing his day or telling something that happened on work, but right now, all he wants to do is sleep and he cannot think about anything else.

His voice is barely above a whisper, but he feels like his headache might be getting worse at any sound he hears.

“I love you, but stop talking,” he mutters, his eyes still closed.

It slips out of his tongue. The words are out of his mouth before he can really think about them, but TK falls silent next to him immediately. The room is quiet, and while the silence is not uncomfortable, he faintly feels like there is something wrong with what he just said.

There is something bothering him about it, nagging at the corner of his mind, but he cannot clasp the thought before it slips away again. His mind is too tired, and his thoughts feel as if they were thickening and he cannot think straight.

He suddenly feels that maybe he came across a little ungrateful. He has insisted every time he has woken him up that it has been unnecessary and, generally, telling people to shut up feels impolite. He cannot recall the exact words he used just moments before and he still cannot put his finger on what is making him uneasy about it, but he has the faintest idea that he should apologize.

It means the world to him that TK is there with him and willing to look after him, and he knows he deserves better than him telling him to shut up. He has no real energy to attempt to open his eyes, but he fumbles with his hand and he finds his fingers and curls his own around them. He brings it up and softly kisses his knuckles.

“Ty, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean like that,” he whispers, mostly against his hand.

“It’s fine,” he says, with a soft sigh. “You should sleep.”

He distantly thinks that he doesn’t sound annoyed with him and he considers it a win, and he thinks he should say something more, but he falls asleep before he can wallow in that thought any longer.

*****

He wakes up with a jolting pain in his shoulder and his mouth is dry like a sandpaper. It takes a moment before the memories of the accident and the following evening flood into his mind and he is slightly disappointed to realise that he is alone in the bed. He fumbles TK’s side of the bed and it feels cold, he probably has gotten up hours ago.

He sighs as he gets up. He feels better than before, he mind feels clearer and the headache has faded almost to nothing. He half-expects to feel nauseated when he stands up, but nothing happens.

It doesn’t take him long to find TK curled up in the corner of the couch in the living room. He has a blanket thrown over his legs and his face is lit up by his phone screen, but he puts it down as soon as he notices him.

“You okay?”

His eyebrows are furrowed, and he sounds concerned.

“Yeah, just thirsty,” he replies as he takes a glass out of the cupboards and pours water into it. He takes a big gulp as he walks to the couch next to him. “Why are you up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he replies with a thin and sombre smile.

He knows falling asleep doesn’t always come easy to him and he has hard time making his brain slow down. He likes to get up and distract himself instead of merely tossing and turning in the bed.

They have been officially together closer to three months, and while Carlos cannot claim he could read him like an open book, he feels like has gotten considerably better at reading him.

Picking up and understanding small cues, from the way he smiles to way he breaths and movement of his hands, has been a slow process, but he likes to think he knows him somewhat well, and he has a hunch that this might be about something else than just inability to fall asleep.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies almost immediately and sucks in his breath.

He keeps studying him with his gaze. He seems fine, but there is almost certain sadness humming underneath his smile.

“I’m sorry about the earlier,” he says, as he takes another gulp of water. He doesn’t truly believe that it would be what is bothering him. He had complained about the constant waking up only to reassure him that he was not in the imminent threat of developing a brain damage, but he still feels the need to apologize.

It’s a bit of a shot in the dark, but TK’s expression changes. He bites his lower lip before he flashes him sudden smile. “It’s okay. You were tired and possibly concussed, all sort of things can slip,” he says with a vague wave of hand.

“I don’t have a concussion,” he argues, drinking the remaining of his water and placing the glass next to the couch on the floor. He shifts his focus back to him.

“Sure, you don’t,” he says, easily, but he pinches a part of the blanket in between his fingers and fidgets with the fabric of it. “Do you remember what you said?”

There is almost uncertainness and wistfulness in his voice that catches him by surprise.

“I told you to shut up,” he says softly, “which seems a bit harsh.” He places his hand over the one that keeps fidgeting with the blanket. He stops the movement of his fingers. He glances up from their hands up to his face.

“Do you remember anything else?”

He stares at him, blinking and feeling slightly perplexed. He knows he was tired, and he still is, but he cannot remember saying anything else except asking him to stop talking. A small knot of dread forms in his stomach, he doesn’t like being unsure of his own actions or words.

“No.”

“Huh,” he breathes out. He straightens up on the couch and he opens his mouth but closes it abruptly. “Maybe we should do the tests again.”

He rolls his eyes, fondly. “Ty, I’m alright.”

He just grins at him. “You have a tiniest memory lapse there, babe,” he declares, holding his thumb and index finger really close together.

He asks him the questions, make him squeeze his hands and follow his finger, and Carlos does all of that, mostly just to humour him but also because it is starting to nag his mind a little that he has said something that he cannot no longer recall.

“You don’t seem concussed,” he concludes, but his eyes are still darting between his face and hands, as if trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle that doesn’t have all the pieces.

“I told you,” he breathes out with a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth.

He likes to think he would know if he had a concussion.

“You sure you are feeling okay?” He asks, again, but this time he tentatively touches his jawline with his fingers.

“Yeah. What did I say? Something mortifying?” He jokes with a chuckle that sounds a bit nervous to his own ears, too.

He knows whatever he said half-asleep must hold some significance because otherwise TK wouldn’t be hanging on the fact that he has forgotten his own words. Half of their conversations are had in half-asleep state after their shifts, and afterwards he cannot recall every detail. So, the fact that he has slipped something he cannot remember shouldn’t be unusual.

“You told me you loved me,” he says, holding his gaze. He shrugs and waves his hand. “Well, your exact words were I love you but stop talking.”

“Oh,” he says, half-involuntarily.

It is the first time he has told him it. Aloud anyway. The thought of it has been ringing in his head with clarity for weeks now, and the words have been on the tip of his tongue so many times, but he hasn’t said them.

He is not completely sure why he has held back those three little words. He guesses it might be because he fears scaring him off or trailing their relationship into territory, he is not ready for. He guesses it is a bit ridiculous because after the beginning’s back-and-forth he has never made him feel that he would want nothing else or less than him and their relationship.

Still, the first verbal love confession feels like a milestone. Although, he feels like both of their actions have been screaming small _I loves yous_ for a while now.

His train of thought is disrupted when TK continues talking. “Which was followed by I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Carlos cannot help but grimace. It sounds terrible to his own ears, now, too, and while there is no traces of hurt in TK’s voice, it still sounds slightly strained, and he thinks he might have figured out why he was unable to fall asleep immediately.

He has no recollection of saying those words, but they must have come so effortlessly and naturally to him in his mind, that he didn’t even register that there was anything odd about saying them, or that maybe he should have put more thought and effort into them.

“I wasn’t sure to which one you referred to,” he continues with a light but joyless laugh, but he intertwines their fingers and holds his hand in his gently.

“Obviously to the talking part,” he replies, immediately and squeezes his hand.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out. Half-assed slip during the middle of the night definitely was not the way he hoped to tell him it, but he is a little relieved that he has managed to tell him it, at least once.

“You don’t have to--,” he starts, because he doesn’t want him to feel pressured, but he is stopped when TK places his index finger against his lips.

“I love you, too,” he whispers with an enamoured grin.

He is convinced that his heart skips a beat at hearing his words. It fills his heart with such pure and raw happiness he is afraid that his heart might burst at any given moment, but it also brings him different kind of sureness to hear him say he loves him. As if all the pieces of the universe have suddenly shifted into their rightful places.

He cannot help but smile, beatifically, but he still squeezes his hand a little tighter and rubs the back of his hand with his thumb. “I’m sorry you thought I were taking it back.”

He lets out a breathless laugh. “I’m not sure what I thought,” he tells him slowly, “uh, I know I’m not the easiest person to love so--,” he continues, but he lets his voice trail off.

“Absolutely not true,” he argues, immediately, and cups his face with his free hand.

“That’s sweet,” he replies, leaning into his touch.

“It’s the truth. There is nothing unlovable about you.”

He stays quiet at that, but the way he looks at him is enough for him. It’s intense, warm and disarming and he almost feels like he could see straight into his soul and essence of him.

He reaches to kiss him. His lips are soft against his own and the one kiss blends into a series of slow kisses and he pushes him gently against the couch. TK laughs into the kisses and they are both smiling so wide that the kissing is becoming challenging.

“Can I say it again?” He asks, as he rests his forehead against his and they are both trying to catch their breath, “now that I’m awake enough to remember saying it?”

“You can say it as often as you like,” he whispers, and he can feel his breath against his face and neck.

“You will get tired of hearing it,” he deadpans but he cannot bite down his grin.

“I don’t think that’s possible. Just like I won’t get tired of saying it, like ever.”

“Good,” he says, feeling almost giddy with happiness, “because I love you, a lot.”

TK chuckles, but he sounds genuinely happy and carefree and it makes his stomach twist in a best way possible. He closes the small distance between their lips and this time the kiss is still full of adoration and affection, but it is still more eager. His hand finds the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up slightly and TK’s hand is in the base of his skull, tracing a small circle against his scalp.

Carlos kisses the corner of his mouth before he stars to press soft and small kisses along his jawline and trailing into a particular soft spot just above his collarbone that he knows that drives him crazy when he kisses it.

“I’m not complaining,” TK says, sounding a little out of breath, “but I think the doctor’s orders included rest and that is not where this is heading if you keep that up.”

He laughs against his neck, but he still raises his head. He flashes a beaming grin at him. “I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t have a concussion then,” he says, smugly.

He hums but he wraps his arms around him. “Maybe so,” he says, but he flips them around gently but swiftly, and he ends up laying against the couch, TK astride on top of him. He sits there, looking around him, and he already misses the warmth and feeling of his body against him.

TK seems to spot what he was looking with his gaze and slightly reaches to pick up something from the floor. It’s one of the couch pillows and he motions him to raise his head. He does so and he places the pillow under his head.

He represses the urge to roll his eyes fondly, but he still gives him a look.

“What?” He says, laughing as he pulls his shirt off, “I don’t want you to get any more hurt.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, but a wave of warmth spreads in his chest. Besides, his neck feels instantly better resting against the flat pillow.

“I know,” he replies, easily, before he kisses him again. “Also, stop talking,” he says with a genuine laughter against his lips.

“Make me.”

“Gladly.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun to write and I hope you like it! All the mistakes are mine and the title is borrowed from Scarecrow by Alex & Sierra


End file.
